Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (95 page)

                     
o
People who don’t have the gift still have their ancestral memories in their personal memory, but they don’t know it and can’t access either the ancestral part of the personal memory or the collective memory, except for rare, random events
.

                     
o
Otherwise, everyone would be able to do what Allie O’Shay can do
.

Allie stared at the paper, sighed, digested what she’d read. Man, if that ain’t it, nothing is. Now all we have to do is prove it. And how the hell do we do that? Well, we do it by doing exactly what we’re doing now, and what we’re going to do next—two steps: integrate neurological imagery with event-and-time-correlated dream reports and EEG data, and analyze my genetic-molecular-biological constitution. I think we’re on our way. And if I can keep my sorry, addicted mind on track, maybe we’ll get there. She shook her head then stared intently at the wall. What the hell am I gonna do? I can’t go on popping pills like this, but I also can’t overcome the urge to dream all the time. Help me, Lord. Something’s gotta change.

She looked at the family picture on the nightstand. Let you all down . . . but I can’t help it, lost control. Maybe the ranch will help. Something suddenly compelled her to glance at the computer desktop, where amidst all the files she’d created relating to the dreams— breastfeeding, depression, rape, pregnancy, the Lakota, drugs, and dreaming—
Lakota
caught her eye. “Oh yeah! I was looking at that a few days ago, got sidetracked.” She opened the file.

The Lakota are a dialectical subgroup of a larger group called the Dakota, that lived in the Ohio valley around AD 1000. In the late 15
^th
century,
the Lakota migrated to what is now Minnesota, near Lake Superior and the headwaters of the Mississippi River
.

“Isna said so.”

Around 1730, they obtained horses and by 1750, had moved west to the east bank of the Missouri River. Then sometime between 1770 and 1780, they crossed the river and moved out onto the northern plains—the present states of North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Montana. The Lakota, also known as the Teton Sioux, were the dominant tribe in the west in the 19
^th
century
.

“Knew the Lakota were the Sioux, but didn’t know where they came from.” Her mind involuntarily began searching for an unspecified but remotely familiar fragment of information it knew was floating stealthily in its memory bank amidst all the other anonymous fragments. Suddenly, her mind’s eye found the fragment and presented it to Allie’s active memory. “That’s it! The first time Emily met Isna, back at Roanoke, Manteo talked about the grandfathers of Isna’s people telling stories, told by their ancestors for generations, of white men who came from
a great freshwater sea
near where they lived at the time. Said it was a different place from where they were at the time of Roanoke, which would have been Minnesota. And he said the white men wore hard hats . . . and that their blood was in his veins. Holy shit. The Vikings, Tryggvi, Bjarni, and the other guy . . . Hefnir. Oh my God, all of it was in Emily’s dreams . . . that I
mutually
dreamed with her. They were trying to figure out where to go. Maybe it was
here
. . . in America.” She looked back at the Lakota excerpt.

. . .
lived in the Ohio valley around AD 1000. In the late 15
^th
century, the Lakota migrated to what is now Minnesota, near Lake Superior and the headwaters of the Mississippi River
.

She typed
Vikings in America
into the browser, discovered that a Viking settlement from around AD 1000 had been unearthed at a place called L’Anse Aux Meadows, in Newfoundland. She entered
map of L’Anse Aux Meadows
. “Oh . . . my . . . God. Look at that.” The map showed L’Anse Aux Meadows to be at the northern tip of a peninsula jutting northeast from the northern tip of Newfoundland; it was at the north entrance to the Gulf of Saint Lawrence and the Saint Lawrence Seaway. This is incredible, had no idea. She typed in
Ohio Valley
, discovered that the valley extended up to the southern shore of Lake Erie, the second lake up the Saint Lawrence drainage. “Look at that! Just like Bjarni said. They could’ve sailed and portaged all the way into the Great Lakes . . . and Lake Erie and the Ohio Valley were right on the way . . . and—oh my God—I dreamed it all.” Her mind swam in the deep waters of imagination as she envisioned Vikings leaping off their boats and wading onto the southern shore of Lake Erie—axes, swords, and bows in hand—to meet the ancient Lakota, Isna’s ancestors, whose blood was thereafter mingled with that of Vikings. “Incredible. I wonder if—” The phone rang.

“Hi, Mom. Headin’ out in a minute.” She heard her mother crying, felt a blast of fear and panic race through her mind. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Nancy sobbed; her voice quavered. “It’s . . . it’s John Bakken. He . . . he just had a heart attack . . . died . . . a half hour ago. Mary’s a wreck, and Dad and I are on our way over there to be with her. Can’t believe it. They were just here for dinner last night, and . . . damn it! I can’t believe it. First, John junior only a year ago, and now John. Doesn’t get much worse than that.”

“Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry. Poor Mary. Such cool people—hardworking, good values. What a shock. How old was he? Not more than mid-forties, was he?”

“About forty-three, I think, and in great shape—didn’t smoke, drank moderately, very moderately. Anyway, we’ll be over there most of the weekend, so it’s probably not worth coming home until things settle down. Sorry, Hon, we were really looking forward to seeing you, but—”

“Mom, I’ll come and help
you
help Mary. I mean, jeez, she’s alone now, got no one. God, I feel for her.”

“No, you don’t need to do that. We’ll take care of her, but I’ll tell her you offered. We better get going, Allie. So hang loose. I’ll call you soon. Okay?”

“Okay, Mom. This isn’t gonna be easy for you . . . be tough.”

“I will. Love you, Baby.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Allie ended the call, sat on her bed. Man, that really sucks. Damned depressing. I should go anyway and help Mom. No, she’ll be too busy to get overly sad and teary. But she’ll need company and help when it’s over, so that’s when I’ll go. Yeah, good plan. Guess I better tell Steve I’ll be around. Damn! I was so hot to go home, but jeez, what a bum deal for Mary. Can’t even imagine how awful she feels. Allie brought up Dressler’s number on her phone, put her finger on the send button, hesitated. Maybe I should go somewhere else, hang out with someone, do something different, actually have a little fun for a change. She visualized Emily in tears, holding her stomach, staring into the fire, deciding to go to Tayler, submit to his sexual pleasure, again and again.

She set the phone on the nightstand, looked at her family picture, felt the now-familiar twinge of guilt, then looked at the floor and sighed. Not going anywhere . . . staying here to dream . . . and dream, and dream, all day and all night, and see what happens to Emily . . . and to me. Damn birthmark itches. She walked to the door, picked up the suitcase, laid it on the bed, unpacked. She went into the bathroom, looked at herself in the mirror. You’re a wreck, O’Shay: rings around your dull, bloodshot eyes, tired, pale, gaunt. She removed her outer clothes, slipped on a t-shirt; walked to the bed, started to hook up the Stanford equipment; hesitated, again glanced at the family photo. This sucks. Feel like a druggie whore, and my pimp is the dreams that control my life. Maybe I won’t use the equipment.

“Bullshit! You’ve gotta do
something
right, Allie.”

She nodded, sat on the bed, attached the electrode cups, and tested the equipment. Tears flooded her eyes and ran down her cheeks as she removed two sleeping pills and two Mestinon from the bottles. “This is insane, but here goes.” She tossed the pills into her mouth, chased them with a gulp of water, then rolled under the sheets, closed her eyes, and waited for sleep.

Chapter 21

T
he Panther and ten warriors left the Powhatan village amid war cries and whoops of encouragement from the people. Each man was without his jewelry, wore face paint, and carried a bow, full quiver, a war club or hatchet, and a knife. Despite the cold, all were naked but for loin cloths and thick-soled moccasins, and each carried a rolled-up deerskin strung across his back, for warmth during the cold night they would spend in forest. As they passed the village perimeter and entered the forest, the Panther stepped into a measured jog toward the narrow upper waters of the large river they would soon cross. After the river, they would turn in the direction from which the sun rose during the cold-air moons and continue to the end of the large bay where the white men dwelled with the Chesapeakes. He thought of his dead first wife, his dead children, felt a pang of sadness, then smiled as he considered that this raid was the first step in their planned annihilation of the white men, the true beginning of his revenge. For a moment, his mind drifted to thoughts of his wildly passionate second wife and the child in her womb; but a few steps later, an image of the white woman’s beautiful face stole into his mind, filled his body and senses with the warmth of desire, but also a pang of frustration at having to wait to quench the burning passion that consumed him. Perhaps she will be among those we attack. He smiled again, quickened his pace.

Roger Baylye’s face was redder than a rooster’s comb as he glared at Tayler. “We can’t hang a man—especially a Savage—simply because someone
caught him trying to steal something. In the name of Christ the Almighty, we’ve caught several of our
own
people stealing food and other items. Do you propose hanging them, as well?”

“Of course not. Our people are civilized. A simple lashing will do for them. But these Savages need to be taught a lesson before they steal us bare.”

Baylye shook his head. “Master Tayler, you obviously fail to grasp the fragility of our existence, especially our dependence on these people for their knowledge and friendliness. Your proposal would gravely worsen what’s already becoming a dire situation. The man knows he did something wrong in our eyes, and the threat of a sound lashing for any future transgression will quite suffice.”

Tayler whispered something inaudible then said, “Mark my words, Baylye, this is but the beginning of their treachery. These Savages are born thieves, and sooner or later, we must show them the limits of our tolerance.”

“At the moment, Master Tayler,
you
press the limits of
my
tolerance; we shall have no more discussion of this topic. The next item is . . .”

Tayler, Willes, Stevens, and Sampson whispered busily to one another as Baylye spoke.

Baylye stopped, stared at the four until they felt his gaze, looked self-consciously at him, and ceased their chatter. “If you men wish to comment, please wait your turn, then speak so all may hear.”

The four smirked at one another like contemptuous school boys.

“The next item is the food supply. ’Tis now late January, and we’ve barely enough food to get through February, much less to the harvest; and frankly, the reason for the deficiency is the laziness of many of our men, particularly we civilians—insufficient time hunting and fishing, indifference to the tasks at hand, and lack of responsibility. By the saints, we’ve no room for such behavior by anyone. Indeed, it appears that several believe their former status in England excuses them from their fair share of work here; but I assure you, such is not the case. And ’tis our responsibility—we, the council of Assistants—to lead by example. We—”

“Governor Baylye,” Tayler said, “it may surprise you, but I came here for land and wealth . . . not to work like the vassal of a feudal lord, yet most would agree that I’ve not slacked in contributing my share of work.
But the truth is, your friend John White lied to us about conditions here, and—”

“First, Governor White did
not
lie to you; and second, while I acknowledge your contribution to our efforts, I reiterate that
all
in this colony must share equally in the labor—and the fruits of that labor—without exception until our survival is assured.”